The Promise - By Danielle Steel Page 0,22

his strong, graceful ones, and he kept a light hand on her shoulder all the way into the city. In an odd way, he made her feel as though she had come home.

Chapter 7

The ambulance doors swung open and they carried the stretcher expertly into the hotel. The manager was waiting to greet them, and the entire penthouse suite had been reserved for their use. They were only planning to stay for a day or two, but the hotel would provide a breather between hospital and home. Marion had business meetings in Boston, and besides, for some reason Michael had insisted on a few days in a hotel before going home. And his mother was ready to indulge his every whim.

The ambulance attendants set him down carefully on the bed, and he made a face. “For Chrissake, there's nothing wrong with me, Mother. They all said I was fine.”

“But there's no need to push.”

“Push?” He looked around the suite and groaned as she tipped the ambulance attendants, who promptly vanished. The room was filled with flowers, and there was a huge basket of fruit on the table near the bed. His mother owned the hotel. She had bought it years before as an investment.

“Now relax, darling. Don't get overexcited. Do you want anything to eat?” She had wanted to keep the nurse, but even the doctor had said that was unnecessary, and it would have driven Michael crazy. All he had to do now was take it easy for another couple of weeks, and then he could go to work. But he had something else to do first. “How about some lunch?” Marion asked.

“Sure. Escargots. Oysters Rockefeller. Champagne. Turtles' eggs and caviar.” He sat up in bed like a mischievous child.

“What a revolting combination, my love.” But she wasn't really listening to him. She was looking at her watch. “But do order yourself something. George should be here any minute. Our meeting downtown is at one.” She walked out of the room distractedly, to look for her briefcase, and Mike heard the doorbell at the front of the suite. A moment later, George Calloway walked into his room.

“Well, Michael, how are you feeling?”

“After two weeks in the hospital, doing absolutely nothing, I feel mostly embarrassed.” He tried to make light of his situation, but there was still a broken look around his eyes. His mother saw it too, but put it down to fatigue. She had closed any alternative explanation from her mind, and she and Michael never discussed it. They talked about the business, and the plans for the medical center in San Francisco. Never the accident.

“I stopped in at your office this morning. It looks very handsome indeed.” George smiled and sat down at the foot of the bed.

“I'm sure it does.” Michael watched his mother as she came into the room. She was wearing a light gray Chanel suit with a soft blue silk blouse, pearl earrings, and three strands of pearls around her neck. “Mother has excellent taste.”

“Yes, she does.” George smiled at her warmly, but she waved nervously at them both.

“Stop throwing roses; we're going to be late. George, do you have the papers we need?”

“Of course.”

“Then let's go.” She walked quickly toward Michael's bed and bent down to kiss the top of his head. “Rest, darling. And don't forget to order lunch.”

“Yes, ma'am. Good luck at the meeting.”

She raised her head and smiled with pure anticipation. “Luck has nothing to do with it.” The two men laughed, and Michael watched them go. And then he sat up.

He sat patiently and quietly, waiting and thinking. He knew exactly what he was going to do. He had planned it for two weeks. He had lived for this moment. It had been all he could think of. It was why he had suggested the hotel, insisted on it in fact, and urged her to attend the meetings herself for the new Boston library building. He needed the afternoon to himself. He just didn't want to spoil anything by having them catch him. He wanted to be sure they were gone. So he sat exactly where he was for exactly half an hour. And then he was sure. He had rehearsed it a hundred times in his head. He went quickly to the suitcase on the rack at the foot of his bed and took out what he needed. Gray slacks, blue shirt, loafers, socks, underwear. It seemed a thousand years since he had worn clothes, and he